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GREEN BRANCHES 



THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

NEW YORK ■ BOSTON • CHICAGO - DALLAS 
ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN & CO., Limited 

LONDON • BOMBAY • CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd. 

TORONTO 



OCT 10 1316 



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By 

Author of "The Hill of Vision," "Songs 

FROM THE Clay," "The Crock 

OF Gold," etc. 



NEW YORK 

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
1916 

All rights reserved 



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Copyright, 1916 
By the MACMILLAN COMPANY 

Set up and printed. Published October, 1916. 



OCT iO i.^ib 



Of this first edition 500 copies have been 
printed from type. 





CONTENTS 

THE AUTUMN IN IRELAND: 
1915 

THE SPRING IN IRELAND: 
1916 

JOY BE WITH US 





GREEN BRANCHES 



'^utunttt In Krelan6: 
1915 

(1) 

It may be on a quiet mountain- 
top, 

Or in a valley folded among hills 

You take your path, and often you 
will stop 

To hear the pleasant chatter of the 
rills, 

The piping of a wind in branches 
green. 

The murmuring of widely-lifted 
spray 

As long boughs swing 

And hear the twittering 



Of drowsy birds when the great 

sun is seen 
Climbing the steep horizon to the 

day. 

The lovely moon trailing her silver 

dress 
By quiet waters. Each living star 
Moving apart in holy quietness, 
Sphere over golden sphere moving 

afar. 
These I can see; 
And the unquiet zone 
Rolling in snow along the edge of 

sight. 
The world is very fair, and I am 

free 
To see its beauty and to be 
In solitude, and quite forget, and 

quite 



Lose out of memory all I have 

known 
Of everything but this. 

(2) 

Straying apart in sad and mourn- 
ful way, 

Alone, or with my heart for com- 
pany. 

Keeping the tone of a dejected day 

And a bewilderment that came to 
me; 

I said — The Spring 

Will never come again, and there is 
end 

Of everything. 

Day after day 

The sap will ebb away from the 
great tree, 



And when the sap is gone 
Then piteously 
She tumbles to the clay: 
And we say only — Such a one 
Had pleasant shade, but there is 
end of her. — 

And you, and even you, the year 
Will drain and dry, and you will 
disappear. 

Then to my heart there came so 
wild a stir. 

And such great pity and astonish- 
ment. 

And such a start of fear and woe 
had I, 

That where I went I did not know. 

And only this did know. 

That you could die. 



(3) 

I would have liked to sing from 

fuller throat 
To you who sang so well, but here 

I stay 
Resting the music on a falling note, 
And hear it die away and die away, 
With beauty unrehearsed, and life 

and love 
Unsung. 

For I had clung. 

With what of laughter and of 
eagerness, 

Unto the hope that I might chance 
to be 

The maker of a music nothing less 

Than those great poets of anti- 
quity, 



Who sang of clouds and winds, of 

hills and clods. 
Of trees and streams, and of the 

mind of man ; 
And chaunted too the universal 

gods, 
And their high guardianship since 

time began; 
And did not fail before a theme 

although 
It passed the reason. 

(4) 

I heard a bird sing in the woods 

today 
A failing song. 

The times had caught on him. 
In autumn boughs he tried a 

wonted lay. 





And was abashed to find his music 

grim 
As the crows song. 
Then, when I raised an air 
To comfort him, 
I wretched was to hear 
The crow did croak and chatter 

everywhere 
Inside my ear 

And so, behold, 

I am a saddened elf; 

And, as a deer 

Flies timidly to shade, 

I fly to laughter and I hide myself, 

And couch me in the coverts that I 

made 
Against those bold ambitions, and 

forswear 
The palm, the prize, or what it is 

of gear 





A poet gets with his appointed 

share 
Of bread and beer. 

(5) 

Upon the grass I drop this tuneful 
reed, 

And turn from it aside, and turn 
from more 

That I had fancied to be mine in- 
deed 

Beyond all reclamation. See the 
door 

Set in the boundary wall yawns 
windily. 

It will be shut when I have wan- 
dered through. 

And open will no more again for me 

This side of life whatever thing I 
do. 



And so, good-bye, and so, good- 
night to you. 
And farewell all. Behold the lifted 

hand, 
And the long last look upon the 

view, 
And the last glimpse of that most 

lovely land. 
And thus away unto the mundane 

sphere. 
And look not back again nor turn 

anew, 
And hear no more that laughter at 

the ear. 
And sing no more for you. 





151)4 

Sprlitg In "Ireland: 
1916 

(1) 

Do not forget my charge I beg of 

you; 
That of what flow'rs you find of 

fairest hue 
And sweetest odour you do gather 

those 
Are best of all the best— A fragrant 

rose, 
A tall calm lily from the waterside, 
A half -blown poppy leaning at the 

side 
Its graceful head to dream among 

the corn. 



Forget-me-nots that seem as 

though the morn 
Had tumbled down and grew into 

the clay, 
And hawthorn buds that swing 

along the way 
Easing the hearts of those who pass 

them by 
Until they find contentment— Do 

not cry. 
But gather buds, and with them 

greenery 
Of slender branches taken from a 

tree 
Well bannered by the spring that 

saw them fall: 
Then you, for you are cleverest of 

all 
Who have slim fingers and are 

pitiful, 



Brimming your lap with bloom 

that you may cull, 
Will sit apart, and weave for every 

head 
A garland of the flow'rs you 

gathered. 

(2) 
Be green upon their graves, 

happy Spring, 
For they were young and eager 

who are dead; 
Of all things that are young and 

quivering 
With eager life be they remem- 
bered: 
They move not here, they have 

gone to the clay. 
They cannot die again for liberty; 
Be they remembered of their land 

for aye; 



Green be their graves and green 
their memory. 



Fragrance and beauty come in 

with the green, 
The ragged bushes put on sweet 

attire. 
The birds forget how chill these 

airs have been. 
The clouds bloom out again and 

move in fire; 
Blue is the dawn of day, calm is 

the lake, 
And merry sounds are fitful in the 

morn; 
In covert deep the young black- 
birds awake. 
They shake their wings and sing 

upon the morn. 



At springtime of the year you 

came and swung 
Green flags above the newly- 
greening earth; 
Scarce were the leaves unfolded, 

they were young, 
Nor had outgrown the wrinkles of 

their birth: 
Comrades they thought you of 

their pleasant hour, 
They had but glimpsed the sun 

when they saw you; 
They heard your songs e'er birds 

had singing power, 
And drank your blood e'er that 

they drank the dew. 

Then you went down, eind then, 

and as in pain. 
The Spring affrighted fled her 

leafy ways, 









The clouds came to the earth in 

gusty rain. 
And no sun shone again for many 

days: 
And day by day they told that one 

was dead, 
And day by day the season 

mourned for you, 
Until that count of woe was 

finished, 
And spring remembered all was 

yet to do. 

She came with mirth of wind and 

eager leaf, 
With scampering feet and reaching 

out of wings, 
She laughed among the boughs 

and banished grief. 





And cared again for all her baby 

things: 
Leading along the joy that has to 

be, 
Bidding her timid buds think on 

the May, 
And told that summer comes with 

victory. 
And told the hope that is all 

creatures stay. 

Go Winter now unto your own 

abode. 
Your time is done, and Spring is 

conqueror 
Lift up with all your gear and take 

your road. 
For she is here and brings the sun 

with her; 



Now are we resurrected, now are 

we. 
Who lay so long beneath an icy 

hand. 
New-risen into life and liberty. 
Because the Spring is come into 

our land 

(3) 

In other lands they may, 

With public joy or dole along the 

way. 
With pomp and pagentry and loud 

lament 
Of drums and trumpets, and with 

merriment 
Of grateful hearts, lead into rest 

and sted 
The nation's dead. 





/ 



If we had drums and trumpets, if 

we had 
Aught of heroic pitch or accent 

glad 
To honour you as bids tradition 

oia, 
With banners flung or draped in 

mournful fold, 
And pacing cortege; these would 

we not bring 
For your last journeying. 

We have no drums or trumpets; 

naught have we 
But some green branches taken 

from a tree. 
And flowers that grow at large in 

mead and vale; 
Nothing of choice have we, or of 

avail 



To do you honour as our honour 

deems, 
And as your worth beseems. 

Sleep drums and trumpets yet a 

little time: 
All ends and all begins, and there 

is chime 
At last where discord was, and joy 

at last 
Where woe wept out her eyes : be 

not downcast, 
Here is prosperity and goodly 

cheer. 
For life does follow death, and 

death is here. 





3oy »e Wltb V^s 

Joy be with us, and honour close 

the tale; 
Now do we dip the prow, and 

shake the sail, 
And take the wind, and bid adieu 

to rest. 

With glad endeavour we begin the 

quest 
That destiny commands, though 

where we go, 
Or guided by what star, no man 

doth know. 

Unchartered is our course, our 
hearts untried, 





And we may weary e'er we take 

the tide, 
Or make fair haven from the 

moaning sea. 

Be ye propitous, winds of destiny, 

On us at first blow not too boister- 
ous bold; 

All Ireland hath is packed into this 
hold. 

Her hopes fly at the peak. Now it 
is dawn, 

And we away. Be with us 
Mananaun. 





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